Orphaned Chronicles
by Iniora Nackatori
Summary: A compilation of Complete One Shots chronicling the unique twists and turns of luck which seem to plague the Ark... and a certain human Autobot. All chapters are Complete Stories set in a mild AU G1 Pre TF:TM universe. Full Disclaimers located inside.
1. Tough Question

Synopsis: Not all questions are easy. And sometimes, you find yourself not liking those tough question's answers. Question is: What to do about it? (G1)

Right. If you're just coming up on this fic, you're going to want to turn around and look at my other one-shot, _Orphaned_, as this fic is set in the same universe as _Orphaned_. What you need to know should you decide to skip _Orphaned_: Rina is a human who was found abandoned near the _Ark_ as an infant -- and as a consequence, got adopted by the Autobots. And when the duty roster got passed around, it seemed only logical Da Twins should get stuck with 'Big Brother'.

...And forgive me if I messed up on Da Twins. Lamborghinis may be my favorite, but they are not my forte.

* * *

_**Tough Question**_

__

* * *

__

Today was turning out to be one of those blessedly quiet days around the _Ark_. The Decepticons had gotten their afterburners handed to them hard enough and early enough in the week that Prowl was estimating the crew would have the full weekend off -- Ratchet, his apprentice First Aid, Wheeljack, and Perceptor, along with those 'bots who just couldn't duck fast enough, on the other hand, were stuck in medical until further notice. Which lead to the fact medical was off-limits to anyone under the age of twenty human years.

To one specific human just reaching her seventh year of activation, this ban was seriously annoying. True, she had dealt with it for her whole life and understood this and other bans were in place to keep her out of trouble. That did not mean she had to _like_ said bans.

A black metallic hand twice her height swooped down behind her, scooping her up and depositing her on a red metal shoulder two dozen feet above the ground in the same span of time it took most humans to blink. "Come on, sis," the owner of the black hand smirked, looking at her out the corner of his gentle blue optics.

Rina crossed her arms over her chest, blocking the gentle red face stenciled onto her white tank top from view, crossing her denim clad legs in emphasis. Thinking better of it, she uncrossed her legs, then uncrossed her arms to toss her flowing red hair out behind her with a wave of her hand before gently taking hold of a small crease in the red armor beneath her.

"I don't like it, 'Swipe," Rina informed her mobile captor. "Every time Uncle Ratchet looks that glum, something bad happens." Rina's normally light blue eyes visibly shifted to a darker blue hue. "An' no one _ever_ lets me see da Convoy when they come back in. Ever. An' all that does is make me even _more_ worried."

There was a snort from her captor. "You shouldn't worry so much."

Rina did her level best to glare back at gently sparkling blue optics despite the odd angle. "Says the mech who got most of his chasse ripped out by a _stray_ missile," the girl gave her own snort in counter.

There was a third snort from their traveling companion, a great humanoid robot whose golden paintjob sparkled like a captured fragment of sunlight and whose overall appearance was just as beautiful.

"Sideswipe's right, Rina. You worry too much." The great golden mech spoke with a cocky half-smirk tugging at his lip components.

_Or not enough, Sunstreaker_, the girl thought silently.

"Alright then, fine," the disgruntled seven year old conceded, her annoyance obvious. "You two don't want to answer my question about what you two and da rest of da Family get in to -- fine. Be just like _every_body else when I ask them what da Pit is going on with this whole Great War thing -- and by Primus! Whatever possessed you two fragin' glitches, and da rest of da Family for that matter, to keep something like _that_ from me?"

The two humanoid giants opened the door into their shared quarters, exchanging a 'look' with one another as they did so.

"You know why we didn't tell you," Sideswipe sighed, setting the frustrated seven year old down. The girl gave him a glare which should have curled the paint right off his armor. "And yes," Sideswipe rolled his optics theatrically, "We know you don't like it. Just like Prowl _really_ doesn't like us for letting you curse all the time."

"Maybe we should try washing her mouth out with soap?" Sunstreaker suggested in an aside to his twin.

Optics alive with concealed laughter, Sideswipe shrugged, "Maybe."

"Fine. Fine!" Rina made a show of tossing her arms into the air in exasperation. A moment later and she sighed, crossing her arms over her chest again in a paltry hug while giving her back to the duo. "I guess I should at least be grateful to da fact you two either give me straight answer or no answers at all. Everybody else pulls a tap dance."

Sideswipe shrugged. "What can I say, sis? Nobody wants to make a loveable little glitch like you blow a circuit out of worry." So saying, the giant gently ruffled the girl's hair, only to have his finger playfully swatted away.

"Besides, we're warriors. We don't tap dance -- we demolish." Sunstreaker replied. Looking down at his arm, the golden mech growled, "Slaggin' idiots," before pulling a soft cloth seemingly out of thin air and using it to attack an offending spot on his armor.

"Which brings up _another_ question. _Why_ does everyone pick on the Dinobots!?"

Sideswipe snapped up from his position in front of a monitor which put the screens at Super Bowl Stadium to shame, wires leading to a strangely shaped videogame machine dangling loosely in his hand, while his yellow and black twin paused mid buff to stare blankly at Rina. A slight echo still rang in through the room, giving Rina's shouted question that much more weight.

The girl stared back at both of them, an odd seriousness in her eyes.

"I may be small. But that does not make me deaf or blind. _Or_ stupid. Every time da -- _the_ Dinobots come out of their room, someone corners them, and insults them. Not in the nice way, not in the way you two insult one another, the way you know there's no real insult meant. In the mean way. In the way..." Rina stopped, her breath catching in her throat.

_In the way Uncle Slingshot insults me for existing, in the way Uncle Brawn insults Sunny for being who he is, in the way da Family insults the baddies they fight... an' means every word of it._

"In the way which hurts," Rina completed her stalled sentence. Taking one deep, shaking breath, with her hands balled into small fists, she shouted again, "And, for Primus' sakes, _I can't take it any more!!_ Frag it, _tell me!_ Why does everybody pick on da Dinobots? What did they --" _What did I_ "-- do to rank such low grade, scrap-metal, recycled smelting pool fluid, rotten Energon, Pit-placed, insults?"

Sunstreaker opened his mouth to ask, "Why the frag would you care?" only to shut it again mid-word. Of course Rina would care about the Dinobots -- slag, if it had the Autobot symbol stamped on it and lived in (or in Omega Supreme's case, near) the _Ark_, it was family. _Her_ family. And anything Rina considered hers she took care of with the same kind of obsessive passion Sunstreaker used to take care of his paintjob. What Sunstreaker really should have been asking was why it took so long for Rina to bring it up.

Sideswipe was the first to break the heavy silence which had fallen after Rina's outburst. "It's... not that easy to explain."

"Then use little words. You know, the same kind of little words you and 'Streaker used with Snarl-bro yesterday." Rina's voice was a low, cold growl of anger, righteous furry -- and hurt.

Sideswipe winced. Sunstreaker simply raised one optic brow slightly.

"Snarl-bro?" the yellow mech repeated.

"Yes, 'Snarl-bro'," Rina rolled her eyes in annoyance. "Just like you're Sunny-bro and he's Sides-bro. Is there a problem with calling the mechs who are my brothers 'bro'? Is that yet another rule that got slapped on when I wasn't looking?"

Realizing how close she was to a tantrum, the enraged child took a deep, steadying breath. "You know what? Never mind. Just... Just never mind." With that, she stormed out of the room, taking her preferred shortcut through a ground-level vent shaft and ignoring the door entirely.

Moments of silence passed. Then, Sideswipe adequately summed up the situation: "Ack."

"Yeah," Sunstreaker agreed, both cloth and offending spot forgotten. "Ack."

"She saw that?" Sideswipe looked at his twin. Catching the reference to their 'conversation' with Snarl, Sunstreaker nodded. "_Primus_, this isn't good."

"Yah think?" Sunstreaker caused the rag to disappear with a flick of his wrist. "For Primus' sakes, Sides, I thought I was supposed to be the dense one."

"But... But they're _Dinobots!_"

"They're Rina's _brothers!_" Sunstreaker countered. At his twin's confused look, Sunstreaker sighed. "_Think_, Sideswipe -- I know you've still got a functioning processor up there. Why doesn't Rina call either of us Uncle?"

"Because we got drafted into being her big brothers instead?" Sideswipe offered with a slight shrug.

"Uh-huh." Sunstreaker exaggerated shaking his head in affirmation. "Now, who else does Rina not call Uncle?"

"The Dinobots. But I don't see what...that..." Sideswipe ground to a halt mid sentence as realization hit. "Oh. Oh, _slag_...! She thinks... They -- her -- Rina puts the _Dinobots_ even with _us_?!"

Sunstreaker nodded. "And what would you do if you heard someone insulting me?"

"Knock them into next century. Which is what Rina would do, but she can't. No wonder she nearly blew." Sideswipe exchanged a meaningful look with his twin. "We've so fraged up this big brother thing."

"I've noticed," his sibling answered deadpan.

"Well, Mr. Thoughtful, got any ideas on fixing this stellar mess? I mean, it's not like we can go around being _nice_ to the Dinos." Realizing what he was saying, Sideswipe paused, before adding a tentative, "Can we?"

Sunstreaker allowed that question a few moments to rattle through his processor. Then, sighing, he laid one hand over his dimmed optics. "Why not?" he heard himself speaking aloud but only half-believing the words were coming from his vocalizer, "We're all Autobots anyway."

Sideswipe was silent for a moment, then sighed himself. "You think she might be just a tad fed up with hypocritical Autobots too, huh?"

His sibling graced the comment by tossing a cleaning rag at him.

* * *

"And don't come back!"

Ratchet's bellow rocked the walls of the _Ark_, echoing and rebounding to create the auditory illusion of the medic's voice both preceding and trailing whichever mech had the honor to be chased out of medical. Used to, but still annoyed by, the effect, the recently repaired Sunstreaker dashed out of medical as quickly as he dared, catching sight of his snickering half-repaired twin as he left. While it was true Sunstreaker would have rather stayed with said twin, he knew discretion was the better part of annoyance. That, and it'd be hard to keep an optic on his brother, anyway, if Ratchet carried through with his threat to knock him offline.

"Bolts, it was only Tracks... Short-circuited wax-hog does the same to me all the time." Sunstreaker grumbled, sulking his way down the corridor and back to his and Sideswipe's quarters.

As lost as he was in his moping, only a bind and dumb mech would have been able to miss the sight which greeted Sunstreaker as he turned the corner. A trio of Minibots surrounded a mechanism three times their size. And of the quartet, it was obvious the largest one there was the most terrified.

"Well, you big, dumb dino?" Windcharger's voice growled.

Sunstreaker paused to consider. From the looks of things, he had yet to be noticed. It would be so easy for him to disappear, paintjob notwithstanding, and watch the Dino-baiting from the safety of the shadows.

"B-But me, Sludge..." the much larger Sludge tried to back away, only to find himself pinned against the wall.

"_What did they ever do to rate such insults?"_

"Well, come on, out with it!" Cliffjumper demanded.

_The same thing I ever did -- exist. ...I am such a hypocrite._

"Yeah! Come --!" Brawn never got a chance to finish his taunt. Someone had tapped him on the shoulder, causing the brown and tan Minibot to blink, "Huh?" and turn.

Only to go flying back onto his skid plate as the full impact a yellow fist connected with his face.

"I've always wanted a good excuse to do that." Sunstreaker smiled seemingly to himself. Turning to look at the remaining two Minobots, his smile turned into a deadly smirk. "Now, what have we got here? A trio of Mini-dolts picking on one of Rina's bros?" Sunstreaker mimicked a human cracking the knuckles of his fist. "I don't _think_ so."

Launching into the fight, Sunstreaker laughed. Prowl was going to have a field day with this. Not to mention Ratchet... _Maybe_, the yellow Lamborghini thought to himself, _I should pull my punches?_

Brawn purposely chipping his paintjob answered that question for him.

* * *

Sideswipe circled air through his intakes in a giant robot equivalent of a sigh. There was only so much entertainment he could enjoy waiting for one of the medics to finish up with the more serious repairs and get to his minor repairs of reattaching his leg. While a human would have found the fact 'missing a leg' qualified as minor damage disturbing, Sideswipe was a giant robot (not to mention a mechanism whose sanity was in question) who operated on a set of different rules.

The red Lamborghini's silent prayer for entertainment was answered in a unique fashion. First, there was Snarl peaking his head into medical as if looking for someone. The stegosaurus seemed to spot his target, his red optics lightening in recognition, before he ducked partway back into the hallway. Then, the obvious sounds of a scuffle somewhere down the hall floated in to range. All of which was followed by Snarl, Grimlock, and, of all mechs, a dented Sunstreaker hauling a trio of unconscious Minibots in behind them, the whole of which was followed by a subdued and sullen Sludge.

Prowl sat up as best he could from his current position braced against a med berth -- the tactician had been one of the many who had not ducked behind cover fast enough to escape a barrage of Shrapnel's shells followed by heavy Seeker fire. The black and white Datsun eyed the group, his optics flickering once in a blink, and his door wings rising slightly in curious interest.

"You, Prowl, have big problem." The leader of the Dinobots growled.

"Apparently," Prowl replied deadpan.

Grimlock turned to look back behind him. "Sludge!" The sullen brontosaurus looked up from his close inspection of medical's floor. "Here!" Grimlock pointed sharply to a spot directly in front of Prowl. "Tell him, Prowl, what dumb-dumb Minibots did. Now!"

Sludge slinked backwards fearfully. "Me, Sludge, not want get in trouble."

Still surprising everyone present, Dinobots, tactician, and twin included, it was Sunstreaker who snorted sarcastically in response. "Given he threatened to stick you in a smelter, I don't think Brawn's going to have much room to press charges against you knocking his lights out. Besides, the little frager had it comin' anyway for chipping my paintjob."

"Sunstreaker." Prowl admonished the warrior's words, but not his surprising verbal leap to Sludge's rescue, with a look. Turning his attention back to the nervous dino, Prowl did his best to seem reassuring. "Please tell me what happened, Sludge."

"Well..." Sludge looked down at his hands as he fiddled with them nervously. "Me, Sludge, not doing anything bad, me, Sludge, promise! Just walking down halls -- too noisy in us, Dinobots', room for Sludge. Den they," Sludge nodded slightly towards the off-line trio of Minibots, "They corner me, Sludge; want start fight. Ask if me, Sludge, coward. Not nice. Not nice at all. Then him, Sunstreaker, punch Brawn hard because he see him, Brawn, being mean to me, Sludge. Then there fight. Him Brawn try and hurt him, Sunstreaker, but... um..."

"Him, Sludge, went and punched Brawn offline before the frager could do more than chip my paint." Sunstreaker finished succinctly.

Prowl notched an optic ridge. "Is that true, Sludge?"

"Well... Me, Sludge, got... um... fed up with him, Brawn..." Sludge managed to stand up straight for a moment, stating simply, "It one thing when him, Brawn, try and fight me, Sludge. Whole 'nother thing when him, Brawn, try to hurt her, Rina's, big brother. Him get hurt, her, Rina, get sad. Me, Sludge, not like see Rina sad."

"No, I doubt you would," Prowl nodded in understanding. There was silence for a moment as the Datsun considered what to do. Then, with a soft click, he activated his radio. "Ironhide? Would you please report to medical?"

"Sure," the burly 'bot's southern accent replied. "What for? Ratchet about tah finally take somebody's head off?"

Prowl allowed himself a small chuckle at the suppressed eagerness in the Security Chief's tone. "As entertaining as that would be, no. It seems Sunstreaker, Snarl, and Grimlock have detained three Minibots who were attempting to harass Sludge."

There was an obvious silence from Ironhide. "...Come again?"

"Sunstreaker, Snarl, and Grimlock have detained Windcharger, Cliffjumper, and Brawn, all three of whom need to be escorted down to the brig." Prowl elaborated.

"Now I know my audios are givin' out on me. I could ah sworn you said _Sunstreaker_ was one ah da three who brought the Minibots in."

"He was." Prowl tipped his head to one side slightly. "Although I am curious as to why."

Sharing a knowing smirk with Sideswipe, Sunstreaker shrugged as best he could around his grip on Brawn's dead weight. "Eh. Just decided to change the answer to a tough question."


	2. Inspection

Synopsis: No plan can ever go off without a hitch; the world just isn't that perfect. So what was the catch the Autobots had to sign off on for adopting Rina? What else besides inspections?

It is not necessary _**But Highly Recommended**_ that you have read _Orphaned_ and _Tough Question_ first, in that order. Otherwise you'll be looking at some characters cross-eyed in confusion.

Disclaimer: The Author owns no one save for Rina and the Disgruntled Social Worker of Doom. Note: Steal Rina without permission and _die_. The Disgruntled Social Worker of Doom, on the other hand, is free game. And please forgive me for using evangelical negative stereotypes -- no offense is meant to anyone.

Transformers are property of Takara/Hasbro, Author Dent is property of Douglas Adams' The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy, _Doom_ the videogame is property of id Studios, and none of the above are used with permission nor for profit. And I will also admit point blank a section of this was inspired by Epona Harper's Why You Should Never Go Unarmed -- go read it. Now.

Back? Good. Enjoy!

* * *

_**Inspection**_

* * *

There were three things which should have told him everything was going to go straight to the Pit today. One: It was a Thursday, and as Author Dent had so calmly pointed out, no one could ever really get the hang of Thursdays. Two: The Decepticons had been abnormally quiet for over a month. Third and most damning of all: The Twins had yet to perform their Daily Prank. 

So when the sentries posted outside the _Ark_'s main gates radioed in claiming to have spotted "The Car" in-route, Prowl was not particularly surprised. The black and white tactician sighed, his door wings notably drooping, and silently prayed for Megatron to do _something_ so that the inevitable could be delayed.

"What's with da droop, Prowl-man?"

Prowl waved absently in his Porsche counterpart's direction. "Patrol checked in. _He_ has been spotted heading our way."

"Ah, no." The normally unflappable Jazz wilted. "Inspection?"

"Undoubtedly," Prowl replied, a slight moan in his voice.

The black and white saboteur rose from his station in front of a wall of monitors. "I'd better go warn Rina-girl."

"You may also wish to notify Red Alert of our impeding... guest." Prowl noted absently.

"Oh yeah -- not like you could forget what ol' Red did last time those two butted heads." Jazz managed to smirk slightly. "And to think I could almost pity _him_ after that."

The tactician's reply came in the form of a dismissive snort. "In truth," the black and white sighed, "_he_ is just doing his job."

"Yeah, but _he_ doesn't have to be such an organic ass about it." Jazz countered.

"Who are we talkin' about here?" The great bulk of Ironhide demanded as he entered the monitor room.

Jazz left after his one-word answer of, "Inspection."

Ironhide thumped his palm against his forehead, "Again? Didn't we just git rid of this slag-sucker last month?"

"Yes," Prowl sighed.

"Then why da Pit is _he_ back?"

Picking up a data pad from the desk in front of him, Prowl sighed, "Because our lawyers managed to dissuade _him_ from coming weekly by instead scheduling random inspections monthly."

Ironhide rolled his optics. "Thanks for the reminder," the boxy mech drooled sarcastically. Then, sighing, "I better go warn Prime," the Security Chief escaped back the way he had come.

Prowl sighed. Marshalling himself back into his normal state of calm, the tactician activated his com system. "Red Alert?"

"Here, Prowl," the paranoid Security Specialist answered quickly.

"I thought it best to inform you there has been a confirmed sighting of Mr. Sliphart's vehicle on an inbound vector."

There was an odd static silence for a moment before Red Alert replied, "Understood. ETA?"

"At best estimate, fifteen minutes." The eye ridges over Prowl's optics furled together in confusion. "Why?"

"Nothing which requires your immediate concern, sir. Red Alert out."

Had his com center been located on his arm instead of inside his head, Prowl would have given the now silent radio a very odd, highly confused look. Red Alert was acting odd -- well, Prowl amended, abnormally odder than usual. Instead of going into a predictable tangent or taking the less-than-pleasing information of an impeding Inspection with a simple sigh, the red and white police Lamborghini Countach had, bluntly, dismissed Prowl with a metaphorical wave. Highly unusual behavior, indeed.

What Prowl did not know was that, at the very moment he had cut the connection, Red Alert had been marching out of his office, the red and white mech's face set in a determined scowl. Fifteen minutes... It would be tight, but Red Alert had little doubt he could complete his mission in the allotted timeframe.

It came as a surprise to most people to find that the overly paranoid Red Alert held a soft spot in his Spark reserved solely for _his_ little niece. The girl could be annoying, loud, disturbing, and one of the biggest security risks currently residing on the _Ark_ ranking right up there with a pair of unnamed Lamborghinis -- but Rina was one of the few people who actually _listened_ to him. Whenever Red Alert would launch into one of his 'Security Rants', everyone -- including Optimus Prime of all 'bots! -- would roll their optics in annoyance and suffer through. They were impatient, quick to question and even quicker point out supposed errors in his plans without listening to all of the presented facts first, and with such an air of annoyed contempt for their 'suffering' that Red Alert would often become too flustered with them to actually listen to their suggestions. Rina, on the other hand... Rina listened, and she waited, collecting all of Red Alert's presented information as if she were a proverbial sponge _then_ asked her questions _before_ presenting plausible counterarguments and potential flaws.

And Red Alert loved her for it. For her ability to pay attention to Red's tirades -- and yes, Red Alert had to admit to himself, some of his briefings did boil down to nothing more than paranoid tirades -- no matter how flustered the Security Specialist became. Not even _Inferno_ could do that and he was practically Red Alert's brother!

So yes, Red Alert loved her as if she were his own little Sparkling. Truth be told, when Red Alert realized how much he did care for his foster niece, his worry circuits had overloaded at the implications of how large a security breach Rina truly was now. Poor Ratchet had needed the better part of a day to pull him out of system lock.

Knowing that, it was of little surprise Red Alert took security regarding Rina as a mark of personal pride. So much so that when a certain Social Service worker had made an offhanded comment that Rina, quote: "Was in imminent physical danger by staying at this paltry excuse for a military instillation run by over-glorified toaster ovens" end-quote, Red Alert had promised to squish the man on sight should he ever so much as dare to prove his claim legitimate. And it was also why Red Alert was currently hunting down a specific newly-built Autobot with the same tenacity a heat-seeker missile had for jet engine exhaust.

Not every Autobot was fond of humans. In fact, some Autobots were practically Decepticon in nature when it came to the Earth's current dominate life form. And, sadly enough, despite the fact she was perhaps more of an Autobot than some of those who bore the red sigil, Rina had become a handy target for those human-hating 'bots. There was one hypocritical 'bot specifically who appeared to be spearheading a movement to get Rina evicted -- and his name was Slingshot.

For the briefest of moments, Red Alert looked a great deal like a hunter coming upon fresh prey when the Aerialbot in question came into view. The unsuspecting jet was lounging with his fellow Gestalt-mates in a relatively unpopulated area of the _Ark_.

Perfect.

"Slingshot."

Slingshot stopped whatever he was doing and froze as if instinctively knowing his time among the living was running out exponentially.

"I would like a word with you, Slingshot. Alone."

The nervous jet flashed a look at his commander, who in turn shrugged as if nothing were wrong. "Well, you heard him, Slingshot. Red Alert would like a word with you." Silverbolt gestured for his fellow Aerialbot to take his leave.

"But... um..." Slingshot's argument for evading capture got no further than a word.

"_Now_, Slingshot." Red Alert's voice came dangerously close to growling.

Slingshot had only one option. "Y-Yes, sir."

No one could hear whatever it was Red Alert said to Slingshot in the privacy of a shadowed corner. No one wanted to, either, for whatever it was that Red Alert had said left Slingshot visibly rattled. So rattled, in fact, that the Harrier Jump Jet literally ran from the room the nanoclick Red Alert was finished with him.

Silverbolt and his fellow Aerialbots watched, both amused and bemused at their fellow's abrupt exit. Turning towards Red Alert, Silverbolt asked, "Do I even want to know?"

Red Alert's answer was a vicious, victorious smile.

* * *

Jazz gave off a startled squawk --"Hey, watch where yo're goin' there, Slingshot!" -- when a dazed and frazzled Harrier Jump Jet dashed past him as though being chased by a pride of hellcats. The saboteur gave the retreating jet's back a long, confused look. 

"Jazz to Prowl."

"Here," the disgruntled Datsun answered.

"There a reason Slingshot might look like somebody just walked over his grave?"

There was a long silence from Prowl's end of the line before the tactician answered. "Perhaps." Abruptly changing topic, Prowl asked, "Has Rina been informed yet?"

"Just gettin' t' it. Th' girl's blasted hard t' track down when she wants t' be." Jazz responded. "And what d' yah mean, 'perhaps'? Yah either do know, or ya don't, s' which is it?"

"At the moment: speculation. Prowl out."

"Speculation m' axel," Jazz grumbled. Coming upon the massive orange blast door which served as the divider between the Dinobots' lair and the remainder of the _Ark_, Jazz released a deep, depressing sigh, pausing his hand bare inches away from triggering the lock to open the door. "Just hope they don't kill th' messenger..."

The scene which greeted the Porsche saboteur upon opening the door could not have been weirder while still being perfectly normal by _Ark_ standards. Off in one corner of the room was Sideswipe prancing around as fast as he could move on a thick layer of mats yelling every now and then, "Toro, Toro!" as Slag in his triceratops mode charged playfully -- or at least Jazz hoped it was playfully -- at him. The stegosaurus Snarl laid with his head on his forelegs, watching the event with a hint of amusement, his spiky tail swishing to and fro in low, short arcs. Sprawled out in front of the world's largest television in history and blocking the world's sturdiest sofa from view sat Sludge in his brontosaurus form. And next to him, comfortably seated in robot mode on a rooftop shelf, was Swoop, holding his hand in an unconscious gesture up against his shoulder to insure his small seven year old passenger had no chance of slipping off. The trio was enthralled by what was happening on screen -- and they weren't the only ones. The top crests of Grimlock in his robot mode and a small glimmer of the uppermost tip of Sunstreaker's helmet could be seen poking out above Sludge's girth.

Jazz stopped for a moment to process that. Grimlock and Sunstreaker, sitting on the sofa together, in front of a highly active TV, and _not_ trying to annoy and/or kill one another. The saboteur took another close look at the screen before amending his statement. The two _were_ trying to kill one another after all -- on _Doom_.

There was a holler followed by a whoop of excitement as the screen dissolved in to a flash of brilliant light.

"Told yah if we teamed up that guy 'd be fraged," Sunstreaker's voice echoed triumphantly.

"Heh. You, Sunstreaker, not so bad at this." Grimlock boomed, his voice a mix of surprise and grudging respect. "Me, Grimlock, want try battle you now -- on solo!"

Sunstreaker reached down, the tip of his helmet disappearing from view as he moved. "You're on!"

"Hate t' brake up the party here," Jazz quickly interrupted.

With all of his terrifying grace, Sunstreaker had materialized halfway up Sludge's back with Grimlock a red-visored shadow right behind him. Their paint-blistering glares were quickly followed by two pairs of red, two pairs of blue, and one pair of yellow optics and a pair of blue eyes staring at Jazz with a range of emotions from annoyance to concern.

"This had better be good," Sunstreaker warned. If there was one thing guaranteed to get a 'bot's spoiler handed to him, it was getting between one of the Twins and a worthy videogame opponent.

Jazz gulped. Mustering up all the courage he could, the saboteur reported, "Prowl got word o' _him_ headin' our way." Unable to take the sudden increase in glare intensity without combusting, Jazz rambled, "Figured Rina aught t' know bye!" before bolting for cover.

Silence tense enough to cut with a laser scalpel radiated through the room.

"Just. Slagin'. Great." Sideswipe emphasized each word with a hard kick to the mat. Rina's reaction was to sigh.

"I'd better get back to my room and get changed. You know what Mr. Sliphart will say if he sees me dressed like this." The seven year old gestured with a free hand to her outfit comprised of a baggy old orange t-shirt with a small Autobot sigil located over the right breast and a pair of dingy blue jeans donning the same red sigil over both pockets.

"Him, Sliphart, annoying!" Slag bellowed, his call echoed and redoubled by his fellow Dinobots.

"No argument from me, Rina. But still. Better be him dan somebody worse." Rina unconsciously slipped into Dino-speak as she shrugged.

"Here, here," Sunstreaker raised his Autobot sized control in to the air as if it were a Champaign glass. A chorus of grumbled agreement met his toast.

* * *

A dull red Winnebago sputtered along the otherwise abandoned road located far out in Oregon country. Inside, a single human sat hunched forward with his hands clamped tight to the steering wheel. A nervous kind of fear could easily be seen on this human male's features. Dark brown eyes darted form side to side in a mild panic, ignoring the few tuffs of grey hair falling uncontrolled in his eyes. A golden cross could be seen around his throat, poking out from underneath a starch white shirt and khaki suit. 

"This time, oh yes, this time..." the man muttered to himself.

This was not the first time he had made this trip. Every month on a random day of his choosing, he would come. Risking life, limb, and soul, he would come, braving Hell's minions in an effort to do that which _must_ be done -- rescue a kidnapped child from the soulless metal devils. True, these devils _claimed_ they had found the child abandoned. True, so far they had not hurt her physically -- yet -- but she _was_ in danger.

Mr. Sliphart looked forward again. The child _was_ in danger. No one could _not_ be in danger from the soulless Autobots -- himself included.

"Oh-ho-ho, not after today, she won't. I'll get her out of there, get her a true Christian name, save her SOUL!" Against his better judgment, Mr. Sliphart laughed. "I'll save you child! I will!!"

But the time for laughter would wait. The looming volcano, that strange pit to Hell, was holding its gapping maw open in sickening welcome. The leader of the soulless monsters stood in his mockery of an American flag paintjob, in red and white and blue, waiting as it always did.

Mr. Sliphart schooled himself to calmness, bringing his car to park in his normal spot. Grabbing his suitcase, Mr. Sliphart smiled. It was time to begin the end.

"Mr. Sliphart," it boomed in its mock friendly voice, "welcome back."

"Let's not beat around the bush, Optimus Prime." Mr. Sliphart gave a curt nod.

"Very well," it replied, mimicking Mr. Sliphart's nod. It gestured for Mr. Sliphart to precede it. "Shall we?"

Mr. Sliphart did not answer. With an air of dignity becoming of a man on his God-given evangelic mission, Mr. Sliphart marched forward into the depths of hell.

* * *

Rina sat as ladylike as she could dare, both sandal covered feet planted firmly on the floor, legs together under the flowing pleated white skirt, hands folded neatly in her lap, and braided hair positioned in portrait perfection over the right side of her pastel blouse. All in all she looked as proper as a princess awaiting a royal interview. But upon closer inspection the signs of her nervousness were easy to spot. There was a subtle twitch from a barely seen bounce of her feet, a gentle near imperceptible movement of her fingers beating out a simple rhythm. 

The door opened, admitting a single well dressed man into the room.

Rina stood quickly, dipping instantly into a curtsy. "Mr. Sliphart," she greeted, hoping the pleasure she forced into her voice sounded genuine.

"Miss. Auto." The man gave her a playful bow before straightening and stepping into the room, allowing the door to close behind him. Mr. Sliphart arched a playful eyebrow as he seated himself at a human-sized table. "I take it I was expected?"

Rina allowed herself a small giggle while she retook her own seat at the table. "Well, sir, this is a military instillation. The sentries posted are very good at their jobs."

"Undoubtedly," Mr. Sliphart could not hide the subtle tone of disbelief in his voice. Opening his suitcase, Mr. Sliphart withdrew a single pad of paper and a pen. "Well then, let's start with the usual questions, shall we?"

"Yes, sir," Rina nodded in acquiescence.

"Has anyone here hurt you physically?"

"No, sir!" There was such a sharp nod of negative from the girl it was small wonder her neck did not snap.

"Has anyone here threatened you?"

"No, sir."

"Has anyone yelled at you?"

"Only Uncle Ratchet last week."

The pen scratched against the paper.

"Was he mad at you?"

"Yes -- or, well, no, I think he was more scared that I had hurt myself."

The pen scratched again.

"Does this Ratchet have reason to believe you'd hurt yourself?"

"Not on purpose!"

"But he does believe you would consciously hurt yourself."

_That_, Rian realized with a distinct sinking feeling in her gut, was not a question.

* * *

It was exactly one hour, fifteen minutes, and forty-two seconds after his arrival that Mr. Sliphart from the Oregon branch of Social Services departed the _Ark_ for destinations unknown. Those monitoring his exit noted that the human had an unusually smug smile on his lips. 

"Is it just me, or did that man's expression remind you of a fat mech-wolf?" Hound questioned of seemingly empty air. A distinctive puff of air ghosted across his audio in answer.

"That, sadly, was the same thing I was thinking." The ghost-voice replied. "Keep an eye on him, will you? I'm going to check on Rina."

Hound nodded once, both motion and his words barely perceptible: "Just don't get caught."

A light chuckle answered him. And then Hound knew Mirage was gone.

The trip unseen down to Rina's room took only a scant handful of moments, and opening the door took less time than that. The young girl in question looked up when the door opened, her eyes slightly out of focus as if she were just coming out of a dream. There was an odd shimmer in her eyes which appeared a deeper blue than normal by some strange trick of the light -- or so the girl's caller hoped.

"Uncle Mirage...?" Her voice was barely a whisper, but to Mirage's sharp audios, it was a clear as a shout.

Mirage dispensed with noblemech formalities. Taking one step forward, his shield of invisibility dropping in an instant, he knelt down so that he was closer to her height.

"I... I think I messed up. M-Messed up b-bad."

The great white and blue giant scooped her delicately from her seat, cautious of her skirt. He brought her so that she could easily rest her head against his shoulder. No sooner had Rina's head touched Mirage's shoulder than the girl began to cry. Mirage brought his free hand up behind her, barely resting a finger on her back and smothering the girl from view.

"Come now," Mirage tried to cheer his little noble-lady, "even if you 'messed up', it cannot be that bad."

Rina's answer was to wail.

"Do you believe Optimus should know about this?" Mirage asked, knowing his own limits when he saw them.

"Y-Yes," Rina sniffled. Her eyes went wide as she realized something. "B-But if anyb-body finds out I've been c-crying then..."

Mirage pulled her back so that Rina could easily see his warm quirk of a smile. "Too many questions too soon, hum?" The girl nodded agreement. Placing her so that she was perched as delicately as a rose on his shoulder, Mirage smiled, "Well then, I suppose we'll simply have to be invisible."

Out of the corner of his optics, the noblemech saw his little noble-lady begin to smile.

* * *

Optimus Prime released a long, drawn out sigh. Barely five minutes after Mr. Sliphart had finished his latest Inspection and Prime was as nervous as he would be planning a counter-campaign against Megatron. There had been too many variables involved in this last Inspection -- the biggest one of all being that Mr. Sliphart had not demanded to see every area of the facility Rina had access to in order to check it for danger as he normally would. Add in the unnerving smirk the man had dawned on his way out, and Optimus had good reason to worry. 

The door opening and admitting an unseen party into his office was just one more small piece of trouble placed on his plate.

"Hello, Mirage," Optimus greeted the invisible spy.

"Ah, how silly -- Optimus seems to think I've come alone." Mirage's voice echoed gaily off the office walls.

Optimus prepared to comment, only to pause. Mirage had not come alone? But the only thing small enough to fit under his invisibility field without using close-range detectible excess energy was... a human.

"Rina?" Optimus questioned tentatively.

"Right you are, Prime." Mirage's cloak of invisibility disappeared as though it were a prop from a bad B-Movie, only to leave behind the noblemech himself and one small passenger.

One small passenger, a bare slip of a girl dressed in her 'Sunday Best', who looked absolutely miserable.

It took Optimus less than a second to process the information before him. And far less than a second to realize he did not like what he was seeing -- or its possible implications.

His com came on as if by its own volition. "Prowl, Ironhide, Jazz, Ratchet, Red Alert -- report to meting room one at once." Clicking it back off, Prime turned back to Mirage. "I've always wondered what having a ghost shadow me would be like."

Mirage caught the subtle hint, teasingly replying, "Lo be for me to keep you from finding out," before disappearing back into nothingness.

From that point forward, Optimus moved towards his destination with an obvious scowl hidden under his mask. Opening the door to meeting room one brought him a mutilated happiness in the fact everyone he had called for was there, their own expressions solemn. The five mechs which made up the head of Optimus Prime's command staff stat patently in their wait for the proverbial bombshell.

Optimus waited a moment for the doors to close behind him. "Alright, Mirage," the current Prime of the Autobots spoke to seemingly empty air.

The noblemech needed no further prompting to appear with his trademark boxy etching of his invisibility field flickering out around him. At which point certain members of the command staff gave Optimus a long, hard look of disbelief.

Not surprisingly to some, it was Red Alert who was on his feet first in alarm.

"_Rina_!" The Security Specialist's squawk served as a catalyst to the others, brining the whole of the room's attention to the minuscule figure perched on Mirage's shoulder. "Rina..." Red Alert's voice dropped to a less panicked level when he caught the girl's subtle flinch under the command staff's combined stare. "Oh, Rina... What _happened_?"

There was so much emotion packed into that one word. A concern for her safety, a threat to bring about retribution to the cause of her pain, a reaffirming of a promise to protect her with all of his might. Rina heard it all in that one, single word, and visibly began to fight back tears again.

"I-I'm _sorry_, Uncle Red -- I messed up!" Rina resisted the urge to wail.

Red Alert caught Rina's eyes in his own deep blue optics and nodded his head slowly in a negative. "No, Rina, _you_ did not 'mess up'. Something has occurred which has you notably upset, yes, but I refuse to believe for even a moment that you directly caused this said even to occur. And I further doubt I am alone in this assessment."

"Got that right," Jazz nodded.

"Red Alert is correct, Rina. Whatever has happened could not have been your fault." Prowl added his own assent.

"But... But I'm the one who said..." Rina sputtered to a halt before bursting out, "Because of what I said, he...!"

"He who, lil' one?" Ironhide demanded -- although he had a strange feeling he already knew who the culprit in question was.

"Mr. Sliphart!" Rina wailed the damning name loud enough to cause Mirage to flinch. "Because of what I said about how Uncle Ratchet got mad at the fact I fell out of the vents last week he thought that you were worried that I wanted to hurt myself and made it sound like that and then he asked a bunch of other questions and --!"

"He did _what?!_" Ratchet's booming question cut Rina's train wreck of an explanation off short.

"He thought that you thought I would want to hurt myself on purpose."

Ratchet glared, "When I get my hands on him, I'll...!" purposely switching over to Cybertronian standard before continuing his threat in all its glory.

"But it's because of what I said that he thought that!" Rina brushed a few of her tears away, then turned towards Prowl. "I don't know how much he did or didn't write down, but whatever he's got isn't going to be a lie because I did say it. He's gonna use what I said and make it look like everybody here is monsters when you're not and... and... And it'll be all my fault!"

"It is not your fault you were tricked, Rina." Prowl countered in his cool, logical way.

"But it _is_!"

Mirage gently pulled his little noble lady mid-wail from his shoulder, exchanging a look with Prime. The white and blue spy knew his own limits when it came to gracing Rina's beautiful features with a smile -- and when the girl's stubborn streak kicked in like it had now, there was little Mirage could do. If the proverbial sledgehammer known as Red Alert and Prowl could not get Rina to see the current predicament was not her fault, then it was time to pull out an even bigger hammer. Namely: Optimus Prime himself.

The Autobot leader accepted the small burden from Mirage without comment. Astutely aware of his own strength, he cradled the girl with an overzealous caution in the crock of his arm, allowing her to cry her unfounded guilt out against his chest. Gently, cautiously, Optimus covered her from view, his hand resting against her back in an effort to further comfort her. While deep inside his chest cavity, located ironically directly underneath the crying girl's head, the Matrix of Leadership stirred. The ghosts of past leaders and -- if the legends were true -- Primus himself listened to Rina's whispered tearful admission of her guilt. And came to the same conclusion as Optimus' command staff; the Matrix glowed once briefly, a quick, sharp shimmer of light missed by all but its bearer.

Optimus looked down at Rina, noting absently how insignificantly small she appeared with her head resting against his chest, her arms stretching out as wide as they could in an effort to hold Prime as tightly as she could. Although she was quiet now, her eyes closed in a restful weariness, tears still fell slowly from her eyes. Whatever the Matrix had done had robbed Rina of her misplaced guilt and the terror-driven near hysterics it fueled.

Once again, Optimus found himself silently thanking Primus for the strange artifact's reaction to Rina. For some reason, the Matrix seemed to have taken a liking to Rina, taking the same special interest in her happiness and wellbeing as it did whenever its bearer came across a sparkling Autobot. Maybe the Matrix considered her its bearer's sparkling just as the United States government legally considered Prime her foster father, or perhaps it saw her as a sparkling Autobot who had fallen under Optimus' protection. Whatever the reason, Optimus had yet to feel the Matrix respond negatively to Rina's presence -- a sure sign in Optimus' opinion that agreeing to adopt Rina those seven years ago had been the correct decision despite the multiple trials the girl had unwittingly brought to the _Ark_'s door.

(Alright, people,) Optimus switched to Cybertronian standard, addressing the command group before him, (You've heard the situation. Recommendations?)

(Besides findin' the slagger and squishin' him?) Ironhide shrugged.

(Tempting, but not plausible,) Optimus allowed a bare hint of a smile to escape him.

(Using th' man's own plan against him sounds like a mighty good idea t' me.) Jazz gave a half shrug. (Beats me, though, on how t' go about d'in' it.)

Prowl's expression turned thoughtful as he spoke. (Mr. Sliphart has noted before that he believed Rina was not having enough contact with humans. Perhaps...)

(Yes! No, wait, _no_! The security breach the plan you're suggesting presents is astronomical in proportion to the already enormous breach in security this man represents! If he could so easily trick Rina into twisting her own words around then what's to say _what_ someone with twice his guile could cause Rina to admit to the point of her unwittingly giving away restricted information?) Red Alert gaped.

(Does she _know_ any restricted information?) Ironhide demanded.

Red Alert looked abashed for the barest of moments. (Well not that I'm aware of. But that doesn't mean she doesn't know something! Rina is a remarkably bright young lady -- who knows what she could have figured out on her own?)

Jazz looked at his leader and Mirage in an aside. ('S it just me, or d' you two get th' feelin' we're missin' part o' th' conversation here?)

(It's not just you.) Despite the seriousness of the situation, Mirage found himself smirking.

(My current proposition is simple. We will enroll Rina in public school. Preferably the same school Daniel is currently attending.) Prowl answered simply.

(...Public school?) Ironhide repeated. (As in have her stop takin' lessons here at da _Ark_? ) At Prowl's curt nod, the Security Chief released a low whistle. (Yah do know what kind ah havoc dat's gonna play on da duty roster, right?)

Prowl notably winced, his door wings twitching. (Unfortunately yes, I do.)

(Not to mention should someone decided to riot in protest of the decision of sending Rina to public school.) Red Alert was doing a metaphorical back-flip in paranoid concern. (Can you imagine what Sunstreaker and Sideswipe alone would do should they find the solution anything less than satisfactory? Not to say that the plan as currently stated is satisfactory in the least!)

(It's currently the best plan we have. And as much as I'm loath to admit it, Mr. Sliphart is right on one account.)

(And what, pray tell, is that?) Ratchet demanded with more than a hint of aggravation in his voice.

Optimus looked down at Rina resting in his arms. (She deserves a chance to spread her wings in the real world...) Optimus sighed. (Prowl, contact Chip, see if he would be willing to lend us his aid once again. Red Alert. ) The paranoid Security Specialist cut Prime off by raising his hand.

(Security plans and potential duty rosters working within said plans will be on your desk in half a cycle.)

(And while he's doing that, I'd better go look up what the Oregon public school system health standards for admission are.) Ratchet sighed with a slight grumble in his tone.

Optimus nodded once, before turning his attention to the remaining three 'bots. (Ironhide, Jazz, Mirage -- forgive me for leaving you with what is perhaps the most difficult job of all: bringing the remainder of the base up to speed on the situation and our strategy for overcoming it.)

Jazz winced, (So long as I got a platoon o' backup t' break the news t' da Twins and da Dinos.)

Ironhide snorted in jest, (Better make that a platoon and ah Gestalt there, pal. The Dinos ain't gonna be happy about this. Mirage has got the easy part. He can just turn invisible when all Pit breaks loose.)

(How true,) Mirage nodded. (And while I may not particularly like this idea...) the noblemech sighed, (I will back it. If only for Rina's sake.)

Optimus nodded in understanding. Now the only problem left was the little one currently curled against his chest.

"Rina?" The girl looked up at her Uncle Prime, her eyes still shining with unspent tears. "How would you feel about attending public school?"


	3. Waiting

Synopsis: Not knowing the truth is worse than actually knowing, for waiting is an impossible act for one so young.

Disclaimer: Just borrowing everyone here. Don't own nobody or nothing save Rina and if you steal her, there will be repercussions.

* * *

_**Waiting**_

__

* * *

__

The most terrifying words I heard as a child were "Autobots, roll out."

Whenever those words were spoken, so many of my Uncles, even my brothers from time to time, would leave the safety of our _Ark_ -- of our home -- to face challenges unknown. Perhaps what was worst of all was that I was never allowed to watch them return home again. Time and time again my family would come back without the fanfare they so richly deserved, Uncle Ratchet would bar my admittance to his sacred sanctum, and I would be forced to wonder in annoyed confusion, while Uncle after Uncle (and Sunny after Siders) would leave Uncle Ratchet's care with new weld seems and totaled paint jobs.

And no one would tell me _why_.

So one day, after watching Uncle Smokescreen being carried back to his room by Uncle Inferno and Uncle Beachcomber, I decided to find out what was going on. To my four-and-half-a-quarter-years-old reasoning, the only way to get the truth my family was dead set on hiding was to catch the Convoy coming home.

Easier said than done, I can assure you.

I put everything I had into coming up with a foolproof plan for catching the Convoy. What I eventually came up with after months of plotting was anything but foolproof. Uncle Jazz would have found a hole in it just by glancing at the very idea. Truthfully, he would have scrubbed it the nanosecond his optics caught sight of it. But for me, sitting in my room with the calendar showing just a month until my birthday, it was as close to perfect as I could manage it.

Primus above have mercy on youthful squishy stupidity.

"Autobots, roll out!"

It was 7:30 AM on a Wednesday morning. No sane child should be awake at 0730 hours on a weekday. But then, no sane child was related to either Sunstreaker or Sideswipe.

Everyone but the Dino-bros, Uncle Ratchet, and Uncle Supreme left, leaving an air of tense silence in their wake. I waited for what felt like a small eternity, for what I could have sworn was a vorn at least, sitting as still as stone in the main vent intake. And waited... and waited... and waited a little bit more. And when nothing but Teletran-1's cameras moved, I rolled out. I slipped down from the main vent, down across Mt. Saint Hillary's rocky face, down past Ark's old metal, and straight down to even ground. I swear Uncle Hound would have been jealous at how stealthy I was.

Once I hit dirt -- literally, as there was a two foot drop from the last ledge of metal to the ground -- I broke into a run straight for the tree-line. I aimed for the tallest, bushiest pine I could see, and started climbing.

I had climbed tall things before -- most notably Uncle Defensor when he was just hanging around, lounged out against a (relatively) small cliff face, relaxing after a combat drill with Uncle Supreme. I can happily brag that I, as a four year old, made it from Uncle Defensor's waist all the way to his shoulder with minimal help. He lifted me onto his elbow, alright? Sans chuckling at my attempt, that's all he did.

But I'm getting off topic.

The pine I chose was huge. As thick as Uncle Superion's arm and just as tall, it could have easily supported even Uncle Prime's weight. Best of all, it was under half a mile from the main road. Grabbing the closest branch, I hauled myself up, and started climbing. And climbing... and climbing... reaching higher and higher up... and moving oh so high...

Then I made a rookie hero mistake. I looked down.

It's a small miracle Uncle Supreme, on the other side of our friendly smoky volcano, did not hear my scream. As I said before, I've climbed tall things. But those were metal, living beings who were more than happy to catch me if I fell. This time around -- I hadn't climbed an Ent, ancient though this tree may be. It was cold, hard, organic bark. I was twenty, maybe twenty five feet high. This tree was not going to catch me if I fell. And a fall from this height would be lethal. This tree wasn't going to catch me and I was going to die.

Need I mention I was terrified?

I was so scared I never saw them come home, never noticed as they passed by my stakeout-point-turned-deathtrap. And never saw him come up to me.

"Are you pretending to be a cat? You're doing a good job of a cat-in-a-tree. Look just like a kitten I helped fish out of a tree yesterday. She was a cute kitten, too, but not as cute as you, no."

Only one Autobot Uncle could talk like that.

"Uncle Bluestreak!" I refused to turn around, I was so scared. My arms were clamped to that tree trunk tight enough they may as well have been welded on. "I'm scared!"

There was honest curiosity in his voice when Uncle Bluestreak asked, "Why? You aren't that high up."

"Yes I am!"

"No you're not. You could climb down from here easy. Easier than you got up here, I bet."

"I'd fall!"

"No you wouldn't." Not with Uncle Blue' there, true. But by then I was anything but rational.

"I... I can't!"

"Sure you can. You're not just a kitten, you're an Autobot kitten. You can do anything if you try. Come on, try. There's a branch right under you in easy reach."

I looked, saw the branch... Then saw the ground.

"It's too far. I'm too scared!"

"It's not too far, you can reach it. Just listen to me and ignore the ground. I'm good at distracting people. Just ask Sunstreaker."

Thinking of Sunny was enough to get a laugh from me. "He'd be laughing if he saw me right now," I giggled plaintively.

"I could call him if you want?" Uncle Blue' suggested with all the innocence of a newborn babe.

"No! He'd never let me live this down!" I countered at once.

"Well then, if you're really sure you don't want me to call him..."

"I don't, I don't!"

Uncle Blue' continued on as though he had not been interrupted. "Then you had better start climbing."

Realizing I was standing between a proverbial rock and a hard place, I started down. I tried my very best to ignore how far a drop would be, and, true to his word, Uncle Bluestreak did his best to keep my attention on the tree and not its roots. Every now and then, whenever I seemed to be stuck, he would point out a branch I had missed or ignored.

I was over three quarters of the way down when I felt metal slide beneath my bare feet. Without prompting, I scrambled onto Uncle Bluestreak's comfortable shoulder.

"There now, that wasn't too bad," Uncle Blue' noted. My answer was to scoot as close as I could to his head unit and fight back a sniffle. Uncle Bluestreak laughed lightly at that before turning away from my tree-turned-trap and heading towards home.

We were no more than five feet away from the _Ark_'s entrance when a miniature explosion went off.

"_**Rina Auto Pax Prime!**_"

I winced in time with Uncle Bluestreak, the both of us realizing at once I was so grounded. It was only with a massive twist of will that I managed to _not_ attempt hiding behind Uncle Blue's neck. Mind you, having Uncle Ratchet come storming out of Mt. Saint Hillary as if he were a hurricane was a frightening sight, and I would have had every right in the world to scramble behind whatever cover I could find.

"Bluestreak! What in the name of Primus are you doing out here?" Before Uncle Blue' could answer, Ratchet had turned on me. "And _you_, young lady... You are in _so_ much slag it's not even funny. Prowl's office. Now!"

I winced. Oh yes, I was beyond grounded. I was a deactivated femme walking.

* * *

I was worse than grounded. Uncle Prowl assigned me to assist Sunstreaker and Sideswipe cleaning out the brig from top to bottom, ceiling and vents included. Uncle Prime commissioned Uncle Wheeljack to figure out a way of putting a collar on me without actually collaring me. Uncle Ratchet glared at me for a good week after it was all said and done. ...And then Uncle Red Alert cornered me for a full Saturday for a forced refresher course on rules and regulations within the _Ark_.

It was later -- almost two years later -- that I found out why Uncle Blue' had been so resistant to simply plucking me out of the tree. A Seeker missile had landed a lucky hit to his mid back. Nothing too serious in the long run, but the blast had left both of Uncle Blue's arms paralyzed. In truth, Uncle Blue' had been panicking as well.

True to his word, Uncle Bluestreak never told Sunny or anyone else about me be stuck in a tree. Whenever he was asked about the incident, Uncle Blue' simply said: "We had to get a waiting kitten out of a tree."


End file.
